CANNES – Some films are so affecting, so arresting, they will stop you in your tracks. They will remind you of the joy of meeting your one true love for the first time. Movies so masterful they will make you question why you are single in the first place or why you haven’t moved on to find that perfect soulmate. The first half of Oliver Hermanus’ “The History of Sound” is one of those films. A movie that chronicles a startling gay romance set a century ago. A romance that may have you fighting back tears the moment our lovebirds first gaze upon each other. That is, until the seams in the screenplay begin to unravel and the magic begins to fade.
A world premiere at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival, “Sound” is author Ben Shattuck’s first screenplay, an adaptation of his short story of the same name. It essentially begins in 1917 when Lionel (Paul Mescal), a talented singer since childhood, heads to the New England Conservatory of Music on a scholarship. Many of these details are revealed in exposition provided in a voiceover from an older Lionel (Chris Cooper), giving context to what will become a sprawling life journey.
Having a drink with colleagues one night, David hears someone playing piano, and his life is forever changed. The maestro on the keys is David (Josh O’Connor), seemingly a few years older than Lionel and a musician and composer we learn has an almost photographic memory. Compelled to watch him play, he walks over to the piano. Within minutes, David has him singing, and by the end of the night, they are returning to his boarding room. Nothing it outwardly said, the pair’s inherent attraction and a slight smile, a gleam in the eye, speak volumes.
After a few months of weekly rendezvous, David is drafted into the military to fight in WWI, while Lionel is excused for his eyesight. Lionel compartmentalizes his feelings at their public farewell, telling him, simply, “Don’t die.” As David heads overseas, Lionel returns to his family farm in Kentucky, where his mother (Molly Price) recognizes how forlorn he’s become. A year later, with the war over, David reaches out, requesting Lionel’s presence to assist him as he catalogs folk songs across greater Maine for his new teaching position. David is so in love that, much to her dismay, he willingly leaves his now widowed mother alone on the farm to find for herself.
What follows will be the best few weeks of Lionel’s life. The pair hike across the state, meeting different families and recording their songs, while spending their nights camping in intimate embrace. Hermanus is at his best here, capturing the quiet, intimate moments that detail their love affair. David picking up the fallen feathers from the hole in Lionel’s pillow on the hiking trail, or the anguish in Lionel’s eyes when it appears David is becoming distant as the journey nears its end. Along with composer Oliver Coates‘ breathtaking score and stellar, stirring performances by O’Connor and Mescal (we’d expect nothing less), it is at times tantalizingly euphoric. You begin to wonder if you’re watching one of the greatest queer love stories ever told on screen. And then David returns to his teaching position in Maine, and the movie is never the same.
Without spoiling much, the following years find Lionel living in Italy and London, where he enters a cycle of breaking hearts just as David, who hasn’t heard from him in years, broke his. There is a meandering nature to this portion of the story. So much is unnecessary, and so little from Hermanus and Shattuck gives us insight into Lionel’s inner monologue. Sure, he is searching the world for something to fill that heartbreak, but somehow doesn’t think to confront David in Maine until many years later (considering his economic background, how he’s pulling this continent-hopping off in the 1920s is unclear, but don’t overthink it, I guess).
And, yes, as the years pass onscreen, the film’s obvious parallels to Ang Lee‘s masterful “Brokeback Mountain” begin to come into focus. There’s even an Anne Hathaway character – cigarette in hand, no less – who is there to deliver bad news to one half of the couple. Considering this tale will be new to a whole generation, there are worse things to mirror, but the longer “Sound” unfurls, the more familiar the proceedings feel.
The last arc occurs six decades later. It’s 1980 and Lionel (now played onscreen by Cooper) has written a book about American folk music including a whole portion about his experiences with David (we’re gonna pretend it’s 1970, because we’re not convinced an 80-year-old or so Lionel is going on a televised book tour in this era, but bless). This epilogue has a few too many endings, one that is simply too calculated, and another that emotionally falls flat. Whether subconsciously or not, Hermanus and Shattuck want a Jack’s shirt hanging moment from “Brokeback.” You wonder why no one told them the movie didn’t need it.
But, heavens, that masterful first half of filmmaking. That quiet, subtle love affair. That charismatic pairing between Mescal and O’Connor, which, for a moment, feels like a cinematic romance for the ages. Oh, I’ll pay a ticket just to experience that again, absolutely. But just that. Just that. [B]
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